The List by Siobhan Vivian Page A

turn the milk sweet and a little bit pink. Bridget sips from her water bottle again.
    “I can still taste that crap,” Lisa complains, and a dribble of milk rolls down her chin.
    Bridget turns her back to Lisa and says, “Well, make sure you take care of yourself and stay healthy, so you won’t ever have to drink this. And quit slurping like a little kid.”

t’s the homecoming dance, and Abby is pressed against a boy, her cheek snuggled on his brushed flannel shirt. They shuffle to a song she doesn’t recognize, the music fuzzy and deep and far away, like when you hold your fingers in your ears next to the DJ speakers. Abby is in her perfect dress, the black one with the white ribbon sash, and the layer of tulle under the skirt rustles against her legs. A disco ball spins overhead, flashing tiny patches of light over the gymnasium floor. As Abby twirls, the light falls on the faces of the couples dancing around her. Everyone smiles in her direction. The whole thing is warm and soft, the way the best dreams are.
    But then it falls away.
    Abby loses the dream to the whip of fabric, the slap of morning cold.
    She opens her eyes and sees Fern standing over her. Fern lets Abby’s quilt fall on the bedroom floor.
    “What’s going on?” Abby mumbles, still half-asleep and suddenly freezing. She pulls her sheet up around her.
    “Our alarm didn’t go off.” Abby hears the accusation in her sister’s voice, as if Abby had been the one to screw it up. “I’ve totally missed academic decathlon practice.” Fern clicks on their bedroom light. “Hurry up and get dressed. We’re leaving in five minutes.”
    Abby sits up and shields her eyes from the brightness. Fern isalready dressed, her bed made. She tosses her textbooks into her bag. “Five minutes? But I need to shower!”
    “There’s no time,” Fern says, and walks out of their room.
    Abby stands so fast she gets woozy, but manages to make it to the bathroom without falling. Five minutes tick down to four.
    Her hair is unwashed and dented from having been slept on, so she twists it into a little knot at the nape of her neck, and then braids the front section so it runs across the edge of her forehead and down behind one ear. She washes her face, brushes her teeth, puts on a touch of blush. Because there is no time left to actually plan an outfit, Abby throws on a navy wool A-line dress with cream kneesocks and her new brown loafers, and wraps a striped scarf around her neck. She loves the fresh-faced schoolgirl look, even if her grades don’t match up to her studious image.
    Abby stops at the foyer mirror on her way out the front door. She looks fine. Better than fine, considering the five minutes she had, but it disappoints her that she won’t be looking her absolute best this morning. She hopes her classmates won’t take one look at her and think her inclusion on the list was a mistake. Already the list has made her a person to notice. She’s never had so many people smile at her before. Strangers, girls and guys from every single grade, acknowledging who she is, congratulating her for being prettiest. She spent four weeks as an anonymous freshman to most, and as Fern’s stupid little sister to her teachers, but now Abby is somebody in her own right.
    Only one person didn’t mention the list yesterday. Fern. Maybe she is hurt about the genetics comment. Or maybe the only list Fern cares about is honor roll.
    Abby runs out of the front door, closing it so hard, the knocker taps a couple of times. Her family is already in the car, waiting. She hears the monotone voices of news radio through the closed windows.
    Fern coughs as Abby slides into the backseat. “God, Abby. How much perfume did you put on?”
    Abby pulls her arms inside her dress sleeves. “I only used two squirts.” And anyway, it’s her cupcake perfume. Who doesn’t like the smell of freshly baked cupcakes?
    Fern inches away until she’s pressed against the passenger-side door and then